Save Me From Tears
by Hell's Sweet Whispers
Summary: Harry tries to woo Draco during the holiday season    Written as the fourth of five one-shots I did of various fandoms/pairings for my friend as a Christmas gift.


_Save Me from Tears_

_~Two Weeks before Christmas~_

Harry lay in bed, his sheets and blankets are tangled around his legs. His chest is bare, revealing the many scars he's acquired over the years. He is rubbing absently at the lightning scar on his forehead. His thoughts are turned to the haunting question Hermione had asked a week ago.

"_Harry, do you _love_ Draco?"_

It was all because about two weeks ago, Harry had seen Draco for the first time since the war ended, four years ago. Harry had been walking through Diagon Alley when he noticed a flash of silvery-blonde hair in the corner of his eye. He had stopped short because there may be a lot of blondes in the world but none were ever the color of fresh, sparkling snow.

The shock he experienced just grew when he took in the Malfoy heir's appearance. His usual slicked back and immaculate hair was just as disheveled and wild as Harry's and the ends curled around his jaw and back of the neck. His skin was had a grayish hue to it that made him look sickly. His shoulders were hunched in a protective manner, a bag held close to his chest. He was nothing like the Malfoy he's know from school.

Harry hadn't liked it.

"_Harry, how _long_ have you been in love with Draco?"_

Love. It's such a strong emotion. Is it really what he feels for Draco? There has only ever been hatred between the two of them. During their time at Hogwarts all they did was insult and hurt each other. Could love truly exist between them? Harry remembers needing to know everything the blonde boy was doing during sixth year. He remembers Draco on the floor, blood swirling in the water under him. He can see himself wanting to get closer, wanting to stop it but also not wanting to do any more damage to the frail boy.

He draws a finger over a large scar on his abdomen and wonders if the curse scarred Draco's skin. If he's honest with himself he'll admit that he's been in love with Malfoy since he walked into Madam Malkin's for the first time. He remembers standing frozen by the door, his eyes glued to the boy who must have been born from a moonbeam. There is no way his hair could be silvery and his skin so lily white if he hadn't been. Harry's breath had caught in his throat when those liquid mercury eyes had turned to him, rose colored lips drawing together in a pout.

How quickly those feelings of love had changed when Draco opened his mouth and graced Harry with what was inside that pretty head. But then how different are the experience of love and hate? As Harry stares up at his ceiling, he ponders over it. Love/hate sets your heart accelerating and fire to you veins when you're in their presence. Hate/love sneaks the person into your mind and doesn't let you forget about them until you're driving yourself mad wondering what they are doing. Has Harry been mistaken them the whole time? An image of Draco slowly bleeding to death flashes in his mind.

"I'm in love with Draco Malfoy."

_~One and a Half Weeks before Christmas~_

"Draco!" Harry shouts, pushing through a small crowd of people. He's been lurking around Diagon Alley hoping to see Draco again. He's lost his sleep trying to think of how he's going to convey his feelings to the blonde. It all seems irrelevant now that Draco won't even stop to talk to him. "I know you can hear me, you git!" he calls. If anything Draco speeds up, slipping down a side street and out of Harry's sight.

Growling in frustration, Harry squeezes through another group of people into the side street. He is just in time to see a wisp of slivery-white hair disappear around another corner. There is barley any people in this tiny alley, allowing Harry to break out in a jog. He knows he might look manic, chasing after an ex-death eater but he's desperate! He needs to talk to Draco now, before his Gryffindor courage fails him.

He turns around the bend and is instantly grabbed by the back of his shirt. The hand gives a sharp tug, dragging him back into a small alcove. He's slammed against the hard brick wall, another lean body pressed up against his. "What the fuck do you think you're doing, Potter?" It takes Harry a moment to realize the voice belongs to his old school rival. And then another minute to push down the lust that springs to the front of his mind and answer.

"I just want to talk!" he gasps, willing his blood to stop flowing south.

Draco snorts. "Listen, Potty, I haven't dipped my hand into the dark arts since the sixth year of Hogwarts and I served that silly sentence the Ministry gave me for my "crimes" so if this is some revenge shit you can just shove it!"

"It's not like that!" Harry insists, trying not to think about how he can feel Draco's warm breath along his neck and collar bone. The blond takes a step back, bringing his head up to meet emerald eyes. They stand their quietly, eyes locked for- well Harry doesn't really know how long.

"Well then what is it like?" Draco finally drawls.

"I want to start over, you know friends," he says. Harry watches as the familiar sneer on Draco's lips dip downward into a frown before moving up in a faint smile that has Harry's heart jumping and twisting. He thinks briefly that a full smile might kill him.

"Alright, Potter, friends it is," he says, holding out his hand.

"You can call me Harry, _Draco,"_ he says, gladly taking hold of the pale, elegant hand.

"I much prefer, Potty, if it's no difference to you," he says, a full smile brightening his face. Harry dies and goes to heaven right then and there.

_Four days 'til Christmas_

"What is that?" Draco questions, his head tilted to the side, examining the large _thing_ in Harry's arms.

"It's a gift," Harry mumbles into the soft fabric.

"And who would you give a large stuffed dragon to?" Draco says, as if he can't full wrap his head around the idea.

"Well it's for you," Harry says, stuttering slightly. He shifts nervously from foot to foot. He doesn't know why he thought the aristocrat would want such a childish thing but the minute he'd seen the oversized, white, dragon in the store window he knew Draco had to have it.

"Oh," is all the blond manages, a blush appearing on his pale cheeks. Harry likes the bit of color there. "Well then, give it here!" he demands opening his arms wide, ready to receive his gift. Harry grins, eagerly placing the toy in the waiting arms. Draco wraps his limbs securely around the dragon and buries his face in the top of the beasts head.

It surprises Harry how young Draco looks. If his hair was slicked back and he was a few inches shorter he would resemble himself at the age of eleven. A lot less self-centered version. This version was just adorable. Harry doubts he would have been able to refuse his friendship if he'd looked and acted this cute! Then Draco lifts his head, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Potter why are you giving me gifts?"

'_Because I think I love you and I want you to smile for me again.'_ "That's what friends do around Christmas, give gifts," he says instead.

"Makes sense," Draco nods, "would you like some tea?"

"Sure."

_Two days before Christmas_

"I see you invited Draco Malfoy to your Christmas party," Hermione states, not looking up from the book she is reading. She and Ron are over for dinner at Grimmuald place and it seems she just couldn't leave her book at home. So she is curled in a large, comfy arm chair while Harry and Ron lounge on the couch.

"Um, yeah," Harry answers. He is unsure how is friends are going to react to this. Sure they are the ones that brought Harry's feelings to light but they also hated Malfoy throughout their entire school career.

"So you finally realized you love 'im, mate?" Ron says in the same conversational tone Hermione used.

"Um, yeah," he repeats.

"Good for you, Harry," Hermione says. They fall into silence, each absorbing what just happened.

"You know about his heart though, right?" Ron says. Hermione lowers her book just enough to glare at him over the top.

"No, I don't know. What's wrong with his heart?" Harry asks, worry settling in. "Is Draco going to die?"

"Oh no, it's nothing like that," Hermione soothes.

"It's broken, mate," Ron says.

"What?" Harry gasps, turning his full attention on his best mate. They both ignore Hermione's outraged "it's not your story to tell Ronald!"

"Well you see, two years ago, Draco was in love with this guy he met in France right after the war. On Christmas he gave him his heart but the next day he found the man with a woman, his heart broken on the floor."

"Then how is he alive?"

"Artificial," Ron grunts. "But a fake heart can't love and he won't give anyone his broken one. He keeps it on him for safe-keeping."

Harry remembers the bag he saw Draco carrying the first time he saw him in Diagon's Alley. He remembers his hunched and protective stance. It makes his heart cry with sadness at the thought that this unearthly being is unable to love. It's then that he decides he wants to fix Draco's heart. Not for the chance that the blond might be able to love him but so he may love again in general.

_Christmas Eve (An hour 'til Midnight)_

"Have you seen Draco?" Harry asks, shouting in Ron's ear to be heard over the pounding music.

"Last I saw he was headed toward the roof," Ron answers.

"Thanks." He turns to leave but Ron stops him.

"Good luck!" he yells and Harry gives him a tight, nervous smile.

_Half an Hour to Midnight_

He finds Draco on the roof, just as Ron said. He is standing against the railing, looking down on the street below. The full moon shines above his head, making his hair glow like a halo around his head. His skin looks paler in the light making it milky and a bit translucent. Harry can't help but expect wings to burst forth from Draco's back.

"Stop staring, Potty!" Draco drawls, turning around slowly to face Harry.

"Sorry," he murmurs but doesn't look away. He's too beautiful and it reminds him of when he first saw Draco all those years ago. Harry doesn't even realize he's moved until he's pressing Draco into the railing and kissing him full on the lips. Draco doesn't respond, probably shocked, at first but as the kiss goes on he slowly starts to kiss back. Then Harry is stumbling backwards, Draco skittering out to the side.

"What the bloody fuck are you _doing?_!" Draco yelps, moving farther away.

"I'm trying to show you how I feel about you," Harry says, surprised at how calm and steady his voice is. He takes a step towards the blond, cautiously, like the other man is an animal he doesn't want to scare off.

"Well stop!" Draco demands. He stumbles backwards, trying to keep the space between them.

"I can't do that. I'm in love with you Draco."

"Don't say that," Draco growls, his eyes shining with tears. "It's broken, Harry." He pulls out a small velvet pouch, holding it out to shake in front of the raven-haired man. It jingles as the pieces knock together. "The heart I have now is fake. It's only meant to keep my heart beating! I can't _love!_"

"Then let me fix this one for you," Harry suggests, reaching a hand out for the bag. Draco snatches it back, clutching it against his chest. Harry notes the slight tremble in those pale hands. "What are you so afraid of?" he asks.

It takes Draco a moment for him to shakily answers, "Of losing it again." The words bring forth a change in Harry. He strides forward, crowding the blond until his back hits a bricked chimney. His strong hands come up to cup Draco's face, forcing him to look up. Harry's calloused fingers absently stroke the beginnings of tears from sharp cheek bones as he waits for grey eyes to meet his.

"Then lose it," he says, his voice no longer soft and coaxing but hard with determination and affirmation. "Because I promise you I will always find it." He knows he's finally reached Draco by the silent tears that stream down his face, shimmering like liquid crystal in the moonlight. Tipping Draco's head back further, Harry kisses him again. This time Draco responds eagerly, letting his mouth fall open for exploration when Harry traces the seam of his lips with his tongue. Draco's free hand reaches up to tangle in wild black locks and his tongue shyly brushes against Harry's

Harry pulls away letting his forehead rest on Draco's. "Let me fix it," he pleads, his hand tracing from pale face, down the elegant neck the velvet bag still held tightly.

"I'll do one better," Draco says, slowly smirking. "If you can fix it, I'll let you keep it. Happy Christmas, Potter!"

_Last Christmas I gave him my heart,_

_But the very next day he threw it away,_

_This year, to save me from tears,_

_I'll give it to someone special._


End file.
